Fading Facades
by tee.tee.why.el
Summary: Facades are constructed to hide human flaws. But illusions are never immortal, and they eventually fade. Learn how the Black family hid behind the pretense of a scandal as their children slowly fell prey to the consequences.
1. Disappearing Footsteps

**Title: **Fading Facades**  
Rating:** T for implied themes and foul language**  
A/N: **This particular chapter was inspired by "That's a Woman" by Celtic Thunder. This story has now officially been turned into a full-fledged one, so please keep an eye out for updates!

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**Chapter One  
_Disappearing Footprints_**

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I cried that night. I cried as the rain lashed the windowpanes, as the wind shrieked, as the dead branches _screech_ed against the glass outside. I buried under the covers like a rabbit, and over the sound of the storm outside, came the sound of the storm within: a heavy, repeating beat and an eternal scream.

Mummy never cried. She came into my room hours later to tuck me in with tears in her eyes always, but she never allowed them to flow. Her eyes were puffy and red, bruised, often black and blue, but she never showed me her pain. It wouldn't be until many years later that my eldest sister would tell me about everything I didn't see: the red scars streaking across my mother's back, lacing around her shoulders, her entire body. Far worse were the unseen scars she bore everyday: the frightful memories, the daily, waking nightmares, the eternal threat skulking through our home.

He always wore black. His hair was transfigured to conceal the streaks of white, yielding a slick head of hair the color of the night. His cloaks were black, his dress shoes were black, his robes were black, and I, at the age of six, could have sworn his eyes were black. Just like his soul. The first night, the first time I can remember, his business dinner party had failed miserably at impressing the resident boss – he was not going to receive the esteemed promotion. My father was furious.

_He raged through the mansion, slamming doors, pummeling any house elf unlucky enough to run in his way – poor Phelma was too slow, the dear – and smashing all of the vases in sight. Mum pushed us into Bellatrix's bedroom, the one nearest to us, her eyes wide, fearful. _

_I will never forget the look in those electric blue eyes that had once been so joyful. _

_The three of us ran to Bella's bed and dove beneath the covers, wondering what daddy could possibly do to us. We were still his family, right?_

_Mummy stood in the doorway, her skinny frame silhouetted by the dim lamplight coming from the hallway. She was protecting from us from a threat she already knew was coming, and had probably known would come for years. I still didn't understand. In fact, I whispered, "What's going on, Bella?" as quietly as I could. My sister didn't answer; she was too busy staring at the exchange occurring in the doorframe. She was shivering._

_Cissy, meanwhile, was too young, even younger than I. She gurgled, happy that Bella and I finally joined in her game – she was usually forced to play by herself._

"_Cygnus, dear, why don't we adjourn to the study?" Mum's voice was shaking as she gently pushed my father out of the room, away from her children._

_Daddy growled in response and brushed past her, into the bedroom. "Where are they?"_

_Mummy didn't respond and kept shooting fearful glances at us, urging us to stay put with her eyes._

"_WHERE ARE THEY, DAMNIT?"_

"_Darling--"_

"_If they had just kept BLOODY QUIET, the punchline to my half-blood joke would not have been UTTERLY RUINED!" He whipped around to face my mum, who was watching him with wide eyes. _

_Bella's shivering increased._

"_Druella, I am going to ask you _one more time_," he hissed, his upper lip curling with disgust. "WHERE ARE THE DAMN CHILDREN?"_

"_I… I… I sent them to grandmum's," Mother finally whispered, her hands shaking. "I thought they should s-spend the night there… Darling, Cygnus, you have to understand-"_

_SLAP!_

_Bella whimpered in fright as Mum crumpled to the floor. Dad snarled and sent a glob of spit flying into Mother's hair before stalking away to lose himself in drink._

After that night, every dinner was a silent affair. Bella was always quiet, and we didn't talk much amongst ourselves. Our life's goal was to stay out of Daddy's way, for fear of the unknown. Sometimes, though, we'd hear whimpers in the night, and we'd shrink beneath our covers, praying our very hardest that Merlin would smite Father. Smite him hard.

Finally, we were of age to escape to Hogwarts. Bella went first, fearing for Cissy and my safety as she left, just as I eventually feared for Cissy whenever I boarded the train. We were ultimately together, though, no worse for the wear. Mummy was the one we left behind, and Mummy was the one bearing the scars.

Summertime was painful. Mum would bustle about, trying to convince us that she was alright by planning family outings: picnics, shows, Quidditch matches. We were her daughters, though, and we saw the deadness in her eyes that she attempted to hide. To compare her to Cissy – the one who looked the most like our mother – was heartrending. Her blond hair, usually silken like Cissy's, lay limp and unkempt. Her porcelain skin, once as flawless as a doll's, was bruised, scarred, and pale. She was unnaturally skinny, and her posture slumped, as if she had finally bowed under the weight of my father.

After graduation, I moved into my own flat: a meager thing above a Hogsmeade shop. But I was happy and carefree, sure that I had shed the chains accompanying my eternal sense of responsibility to my family. I was working in the Ministry of Magic as a lowly secretary with miniscule pay, but I was _free_.

One can never be free.

_Dear sir/madam_, the letter read.

_We regret to inform you of Druella Rosier Black's passing last Monday, due to natural causes. The Black family invites you to a viewing/memorial service on Saturday. All monetary donations will go to her husband for the continual upkeep of their family house._

_-Cygnus Black_

I cried that night. I cried as the nightmares flashed through my head, as the memories beat against my temples.

I cried as I stood over my mother, as I held back tortured screams.

I cried as the imprint of a hand on her cheek slowly faded away.


	2. Deliverance

**A/N:** Yes, I decided to turn this into a full-fledged story! A special thank you goes out to libelandslander, the only person who reviewed the first chapter (now called "Disappearing Footsteps"), and I'm looking forward to reviews written by all those who have Favorited it! ;) This chapter was inspired by crea___ whose prompt was the idea of the 'breaking point'.

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**Chapter Two  
_Deliverance_**

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I knew, knew the moment I read the first sentence, that he had been the one to kill her. The letter was so abstract, so disjointed from any emotion at all; there was no possible way that her death was not his responsibility. I knew he was to blame, knew that he had probably killed her the moment he'd had too much to drink.

And I knew he didn't regret his decision for a moment.

The letter told of my father's _regret_ that he had to be the one to write of the _unfortunate passing_ of my mother. _Druella Rosier Black passed away due to natural causes._ My father received a high-class, private education, and that was the best _blatant lie _he could imagine? The letter even began with, _Dear sir/madam_. What does that tell you about my father's character?

He was a spineless fool who terrorized those weaker than himself.

For years, we cowered in his shadow, my family and I. My mother with her bruises, Andromeda with her insatiable curiosity, Cissy with her eyes full of fear, and myself with violent quaking fits. I couldn't bear his presence, couldn't bear to be in the same house as the likes of him. His awful stench of utter disregard for others permeated the mansion, seeped beneath the doors, and soaked into every nook and cranny.

I hated him.

I hated every fiber of his being, every strand of hair on his pretty little head. I hated the pain he caused us, the pain he caused my mother. I hated the way he'd lock himself in his study and drink to his heart's desire, emerging hours later to punish _us_ for his headaches. I hated the way he did that for everything; he'd make the mistakes and we'd be the ones to take the blame. I hated that he forgot we were his family and treated us like Mudblood strangers. One would be surprised at the amount of hate that can _utterly consume _a seven-year-old.

I was tired of him.

I was tired of the insults, of the condescending comments he'd make about my appearance, my grades, my friends, my abilities. I could cast _circles_ around him, but he didn't care – he'd slander everything I touched. I was tired of the abuse. The bruises hurt, the cuts stung, the scars ran deep. The memories were haunting. I'd wake up every night, fighting back screams as I remembered some nightmare from a day long past.

I longed to be _free_.

He leashed us to a pole, drunk with power. We strained at the chains around our throats, yearning to break away from his reach, but his hand was everywhere to stop and reign us back in. His hand was everywhere, hurting us in places we wouldn't have imagined possible: our minds, our hearts, our souls.

So I killed him.

Oh, my father begged and pleaded. He grovelled at my feet for mercy, for forgiveness. I struck a menacing silhouette in his blasted study, draped in my borrowed Death Eater garb. If I was successful, I would no longer have to _borrow_, for the Dark Lord would give me my own, honorary robe. I would join the ranks of the Chosen Ones, the ones that would bring about a new and glorious age for the Wizarding World. There was no doubt in my mind that I _would not_ fail.

His hair was mussed for the first time in my memory. The study was not as ostentatious as I could recall. But the bottles lining his desk, hanging out of cabinets, were just as prominent as they had been in my childhood. Seeing that he still had them, that he had never changed, enraged me.

I was furious.

But I bit back my words, bit back my insults, bit back my torments. He didn't _deserve_ to be treated as I was. I didn't _want_ him to become like me. He did not have the _liberty_ to become like me. That was a privilege, one he did not merit.

So I killed him.

The Dark Lord was overjoyed and immensely impressed. He calls me his _right hand_ and trusts me infinitely. He is nothing like my father, the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord listens to me, asks for my opinion. He _values_ my input, _values_ what I have to say. The Dark Lord values _me_; in him, I have self-worth.

So I killed my father.

And now, I am _free_.


	3. Pardon Blind

**Author's Note:**Well, here's chapter three! I'm working on the next one, but more reviews will probably speed up the process, so... Review! Please? Love ya'.  
If Lucius seems a bit out of character to you, that's normal. All will be explained in the following chapter.  
_Inspired by Vanessa Carlton's "Rinse"._

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**Pardon Blind**

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No one expected me to love him after what he'd done to me. But they didn't understand. They'd never understand.

My childhood had been a rough one, and I would've lost all faith in mankind had it not been for Lucius. My father gave me the impression that all men were drunken, power-hungry sods with no regard to other people's well-being, but, when I met Lucius, it was like my entire world changed. He treated me with respect -- holding doors open for me, carrying my books, gently brushing his lips against my hand – even during our younger years at Hogwarts. During his fifth year he took time away from me to explore, just as I'd expected he'd do. He was a _man_, after all, and one could not expect him not to grow bored of his intended at one point or another. Besides, as my mother had told me countless times, better he explore now, while it was socially acceptable, than once we were married. For once we were married, he'd be expected – by society, not by me – to stay faithful to his beloved. That was why I forgave him for his disloyalty, and even his treacherous sin. Because I knew that he was worth it -- worth my pride and worth my forgiveness.

"_Narcissa, I'm so sorry," he whispered to me. We were in the family garden, lost somewhere in its lanes of wondrous flowers, and completely and utterly alone. My family was furious at Lucius, furious that he'd dare commit the one offense unreservedly unforgivable. Lucius was down on one knee before me, his long blond hair tied back in its traditional low ponytail. His face was flushed but his eyes were deeply distressed, and I knew that he truly _was _sorry. "But I need to-"_

"_I forgive you," I interrupted him with a glowing smile. "This unbidden apology merely shows to me, once again, that you are my true soul mate. Thank you." He looked stunned, and he didn't speak for a few moments. He was probably still reeling from my surprising pardon -- in shock, if you will. Even _I_ was taken aback by my willingness to move past this hiccup in our relationship. Lucius said nothing, gaping at me from his spot on the stone floor. I was caught up in the moonlight reflecting off his white-blond hair; hair so like mine, and I finally realized how beautiful I was to other people. _

_I was beautiful. Lucius was beautiful. Our children would be beautiful._

_I let out a sigh of happiness before looking down at him. His brow was knit, and he was staring at my light blue slippers in concentration. I knew not what he was musing about, but I longed to bring him back to my world. We would face the family together, the two of us, and we would marry, procreate, and grow old together. That had been the plan ever since my birth, and nothing Andromeda could do would ever interfere with that plan. I took Lucius by his handsome chin and lifted him up so he was standing, gazing into my eyes. He seemed to have made some sort of important decision – I knew not what – while staring at my shoes there on the floor, and I could see the mysterious change in his eyes. He kissed me with a passion I'd never before encountered, and he left me winded. My voice was almost silent, "I love you."_

"_I can't live without you," he breathed coarsely into my right ear, and I trembled as a shiver shot down my spine. I pulled away from his embrace to gaze into his eyes, to look at the man I loved. Again, there was something hidden behind his eyes that I could not grasp, and it troubled me. I would ultimately discover this secret of his, I was sure, as time wore on; we had all of eternity to spend together._

_Eventually, the two of us, _we_, headed back inside to face the family with our reasoning: the blame was Andromeda's._

I'd been the one to suggest shifting the fault, and Lucius had not questioned me. He didn't understand the cost of betraying my own sister: her disownment and my never-ending, all-consuming, ever-present guilt. But he was worth it, I convinced myself – worth my conscience and surely worth my elder sister.

Our marriage was as grand a fanfare as there ever was, and our honeymoon was grander still. But something changed that night, as we lay together in our bed, gazing at the moon. The _something_ hiding behind Lucius's eyes had been growing daily, and that night it finally burst forth. The _something_ had been complete and utter apathy. After that honeymoon night, Lucius was decidedly distant from me, and I knew not why. Even after Draco's birth, the birth of the son Lucius so desperately wanted, he would not bless me with a simple glance. I became the socialite shut-in while my husband attended the parties and presented a jovial face to the world. But, even though my mansion is merely a gilded cage, I am freer than I've ever been.

We cannot ask too much of life, I've discovered, for we shall surely be disappointed. Lucius is not so bad a husband – he does not treat me as my father treated my mother, I live in comfort and style, and I may have anything I desire. Lucius protects me from the world of men: men who abuse their power, their money, and their families. I don't blame him for the indifferent husband he's become.

After all, the blame is Andromeda's.


End file.
